Snape's Worst Memory Continued
by JoTwo
Summary: What happened next? Snape can't help remembering ...


SNAPE'S WORST MEMORY CONTINUED  
  
By JoTwo  
  
Synopsis - yet another fic inspired by Chapter 28. Snape remembers what happened next.  
  
"Get out. Get out. I don't want to see you in this office ever again!"  
My hand closed around the first thing I could reach. I hurled the glass jar at Potter. I was angry beyond words. I don't know if I was aiming for him or if I merely wanted to drive him off. Perhaps it was fortunate that the jar shattered against the stone wall instead of his head, even though then he could have had another scar to go with the brand that the Dark Lord left on him; a matching pair as it were.  
The little bastard would have wasted no time in running off to the Head Master. Professor Snape attacked me, sir. And Dumbledore would have looked over his glasses and fixed me with a serious blue stare, containing a trace of disappointment, and asked:  
"Is this true, Severus?"  
Making me out to be the one in the wrong, even though it is me who had been humiliated. Violated. Sticking up for Potter, excusing him, just the way he and everyone else did for his father.  
Just as well that Potter can move quickly; at least that scenario can't happen now. Not that this improves matters any; it merely does not make the situation any worse.  
At least I'd done enough to persuade Potter to keep his mouth shut. If this ever got out, it would be the end. My reputation as a fearsome disciplinarian would be destroyed if any of the students found out that I'd been a victim. How I'd been dangled upside down, every vestige of dignity taken from me. I'd be a laughing stock again, even among the Slytherins. I couldn't bear that.  
I looked down at the scattering of insects floating in a sticky puddle upon the dungeon floor. I knew that I ought to clear this mess up but I couldn't raise the energy, let alone my wand.  
Instead I staggered over to my desk and flung myself into my chair. The fury that had strengthened me was ebbing now, leaving me drained. I was aware of my racing heart. I felt nauseous and even gave a couple of dry retches.  
Control yourself. In response to the command I inhaled deeply, trying to concentrate my whole consciousness on each breath, a technique even Muggles know, to clear my mind, banish all feeling. For once, it didn't work.  
Alarmed, I had to fight down panic. I need my hard shell, my armour, a barrier between my emotions and the world. It's a matter of pride too. My abilities are all I have. Without them, I'm nothing. I'd be exactly what I despise. A fool who wears his heart on his sleeve, who cannot control his emotions, who wallows in sad memories - a weak person in other words.  
But as the past had broken its boundaries and overwhelmed the present tonight, maybe I couldn't repress it until I had examined it again.  
I hesitated. I didn't want to do this. I braced myself and looked into the Pensieve. ********************************************************************  
"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"  
Potter's voice was full of malicious delight. His expression was savage but I couldn't see that at the time, owing to the fact that I was hanging upside down again, blinkered by the folds of my robe. I wished that I were deafened too. Then I wouldn't hear the enthusiastic cry of "Yeah" from Peter Pettigrew. Would be spared the baying laughter of the pack as they waited for the kill.  
He was going to do it, I knew. He'd lost face in front of the girl that he fancied - (never loved, not truly; I will never believe that) - and he blamed me. Now I was going to suffer.  
I was terrified.  
Someone - probably Pettigrew - began clapping. The rhythm was taken up by the crowd and mounted in volume.  
"Go on, James, do it!" Pettigrew shrieked. Then he started the chant, "Off! Off! Off!" Again, it spread among the onlookers like wildfire, building to a frenzied, expectant, crescendo.  
I kicked out, hoping I might get in a lucky blow, but couldn't connect with anything.  
Potter put his hand on the waistband of my underpants. I crossed my legs and twisted and thrashed around, vainly attempting to shake him off.  
"Sirius," Potter said, calling for back up.  
Black grabbed my legs, unhooking one from the other and wrenching them apart. He pulled so hard that I thought he might dislocate something.  
With Black pinioning me, Potter could get down to business.  
"Bet you can't get them down in one."  
"Bet you I can."  
Potter tugged. When Potter got my pants as far as my ankles, Black briefly released my legs one at a time so that he could remove them completely.  
The crowd erupted into cheers and raucous laughter. Pettigrew actually whooped. I was yelling in protest, but no one was listening to me.  
Potter waved my pants like a flag. Then he swung them around over his head, to more cheering. Potter acknowledged it by giving a bow.  
Then he turned his attention back to me. He eyed me up and down then grinned nastily. He pointed at my groin.  
"It's not true what they say then; about blokes with big noses."  
"You're right, James," added Black, pulling my legs into a Y shape and shaking them, "but it doesn't matter in Snivelly's case. No girl would want him anyway. They'd rather kiss a Dementor."  
That witticism provoked more laughter.  
"I'm hung like a stag myself," remarked Potter.  
"Hung like a stag. Ooh, that's a good one, James," snickered Pettigrew.  
"James, Sirius." Remus Lupin had come over. He looked embarrassed. "I think it's time we went in. It'll be dinner soon."  
Black and Potter looked like little boys who'd been told by their mother to stop playing with their toys and go to bed.  
"Oh, all right," Black replied, grudgingly.  
"James?"  
"Okay," Potter sighed. He strolled off then, as an afterthought, turned back and pronounced the counter curse.  
Like a marionette whose strings had been cut I dropped instantly. The jarring impact as I made contact with the ground sent shock waves through me.  
Potter looked at his hand as if he had realised he was holding something disgusting.  
"Hey, Snivellus." He chucked my pants and they landed on the ground in front of my face. "Dry your eyes on those."  
"Last one back is a smelly Horklump," yelled Black, breaking into a lolloping run.  
"Cheat," Potter called to his retreating form, before tearing after him.  
Pettigrew stumbled off in the pair's wake. Lupin walked away. He glanced back once, then quickened his pace, as he followed the rest.  
I won't cry. I won't. I won't live up to the nickname they've saddled me with. I screwed my eyes up and raggedly sucked in gulps of air. After a few moments I felt able to look up.  
The crowd had drifted away, apart from a few stragglers. Maybe they were waiting for an encore. Well, they'd get no more entertainment out of me.  
Others were sitting around having suddenly loud conversations. There was a remnant of giggling, but overall the atmosphere was awkward. People went back to their own business, trying to pretend nothing had happened. I wished that I could perform a Mass Memory Charm but knew that this was impossible.  
Avoiding eye contact, I stood up. I snatched up my pants and stuffed them into my bag. There was no way I was going to put them back on in front of other people; totally illogical really, after what everybody had just witnessed.  
Keeping my head down I walked away. I didn't know where I was heading. I just wanted to get as far away from the world as I could.  
I walked further into the grounds, away from the school, my steps becoming quicker and quicker until I was running, running away from everyone, everything, except I couldn't run fast enough to outdistance the shame.  
The Forbidden Forest loomed ahead of me, its darkness offering to swallow me up. I crashed through the undergrowth, not stopping until I barged into a tree. Brought up short, I sank to my knees and vomited into its roots.  
Then the tears came. My anguished sobs seemed amplified by the enveloping stillness. Howling, I cried so hard that the wetness saturated my face and neck.  
Eventually I ran out of tears. I'm not sure how long I sat there, arms locked around my torso, curled into a semi-foetal position.  
After a while I felt hungry. I'd missed the meal but that made no difference anyway; I couldn't have faced eating in the Great Hall, with all eyes staring at me. I rummaged through my bag and found a bar of Honeydukes chocolate. Madam Pomfrey was always force-feeding her patients the stuff, so I thought that it might help. It did fill me up a bit.  
I still felt no inclination to return to the school. I anticipated the pointing and jeers that I was going to receive. I couldn't even expect any sympathy from my fellow Slytherins. They would probably feel that I'd brought dishonour on our house. I had no one in my corner.  
I wished Lucius Malfoy were still around. Lucius had expected me to follow his orders and help him with things connected with the Dark Arts but his influence had shielded me. It had even extended outside Slytherin. Potter and his gang used to take pot shots at me while he was around but even they could not push it too far. Once Lucius left the persecution began in earnest.  
Ooh, what I'd do to Potter and Black if I had the chance. I'd have them bound at my feet, covered with interesting deformities, if I could only get at them. I'd have them begging me for mercy. Then - Crucio!  
The hate-fuelled fantasy cheered me but the euphoria couldn't last. Reality set in and cast me down again. I was powerless against them. As powerless as I had always been against my father.  
I sank my forehead into my hands and pressed hard against my temples, as if that way I could squeeze out the mental anguish, or, at least, distract myself from it with physical pain.  
The worst of it was that my almost friendship with Lily was now in tatters. I liked Lily. She wasn't like the rest. She didn't look at me as if I was something she'd stepped in.  
Potter had ruined everything. It was bad enough that he had shown me up in front of her. Why did she have to play the Gryffindor rescuer? She shouldn't have interfered. Why couldn't she see that she was making things worse? I had lashed out because I was angry and humiliated. It wasn't my fault; it was Potter's.  
Now Lily saw me as everybody else did. As Snivellus. Snivelly. That weirdo of a Slytherin with an aversion to soap and water (which, incidentally, wasn't true).  
Eventually I calmed down enough to realise that I couldn't stay here. Ideally I would have waited until nightfall and sneaked back into the castle when nobody was around. Unfortunately, I couldn't wait that long. I needed to cram in more revision for my Transfiguration exam.  
I really wanted to do well in my OWLS. They were vitally important for your future. I was damned if I was going to let those bastards spoil things for me.  
I'd go to the library. It was a good place to revise. Perhaps people would be so involved with their own revision that they wouldn't pay me any attention. Even if they weren't the worst that they could do was stare. Nobody could say anything to me in there or they'd be thrown out on their ears for causing trouble. ********************************************************************* So that's what I did.  
Even after the trauma I managed to get an Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration. I passed all my OWLs, gaining Outstanding in Defence Against Dark Arts, Potions, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Astronomy.  
Ironically, the end of fifth year was the only time I actually looked forward to going home. Over the holidays I brooded a lot and fantasised about getting my own back.  
When I started sixth year, because I knew I could not get my revenge by myself, and for protection, I started hanging around with the toughest Slytherin gang.  
Of course, because they hated Muggle borns I had the perfect excuse in my own mind not to try and patch it up with Lily. Some sacrifices had to be made, I lied to myself. Really I was still smarting with hurt pride. Stubbornness played its part too.  
Above all, I was scared. I thought she hated me now and would tell me to get lost.  
So I did nothing. And I missed even the chance of being friends again. I'm convinced that Potter never knew that Lily and I were once on good terms. He would have gone berserk and cursed me to within an inch of my life if he had ever found out. Perhaps Lily didn't want to see me get hurt. But there again, she was taken in by Potter's pretence that he had cleaned up his act so it's more likely that she never thought it important enough to mention.  
Thank Merlin that the son doesn't know either.  
I meant what I said; I'm having nothing more to do with him.  
I'll tell Dumbledore tomorrow, when I'm rational again. Even the Head Master must see that Potter pushed me beyond my limits.  
Besides, the Occlumency lessons weren't working. The little sod wasn't putting any effort in. He loves sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts. Being the centre of attention is what he lives for and damn the consequences for anyone else. Just like his father.  
  
THE END 


End file.
